Good Intentions
by Mainecoon
Summary: NON-SLASH Frodo/Sam angsty fluff (Mega Sam angst!!). Resurrected character from another fic is instrumental in helping Frodo and Sam resolve certain... relationship difficulties.
1. Aunie

**Good Intentions**  
by Mainecoon  
  
Author's Note: Concerning the inspiration for this story, and the poem at the end of Chapter 2. This story was inspired by Certain Events of October of 2001. The details of these Events I shall not attempt to record here, as the story would end up longer than the fanfic I am trying to present. But in short, certain things conspired between my best friend and I which neither of us had any control over, and it was Weird, and Creepy, and scared the [expletive deleted] out of both of us, and essentially, it involved a near-death experience and my awareness of said experience before it was verbally related to me. The poem at the end of Chapter 2 is an edited, abridged version of a poem I wrote to her at the very instant she was being wheeled into an operating room. The sentiments expressed herein by Samwise are similar to things I thought due to the side-effects of what I can only describe as a bizarre psychic bonding experience. More I shall not say, as it concerns nobody but myself, Pip, and God.   
  
  


~*#*~  


  
  
**CHAPTER 1: Aunie**  
  
The tips of the leaves in the woods near the edge of the Shire were just beginning to take on the gorgeous pink and orange shades of autumn. Clouds darkened the sky above, but a cool breeze rustling through the grass made the scene more sad than foreboding. The trees spent days like this remembering times long past, before their playful grass was tended by hobbit hands, before their rolling hills were inhabited by hole-dwellers any larger than moles.   
  
The trees were not the only ones remembering. Samwise Gamgee joined them that day. He wandered aimlessly through the trees, his mind too preoccupied to notice the subtle beauty of his surroundings. He was brooding; and brooding was an art at which most hobbits excelled, though they didn't realize it. Sam was no exception. Heedless of the threat of rain, he had set out before sunrise that morning with just a few provisions. He left a note for Rosie telling her not to worry if he wasn't back before the next day, then started walking, letting his feet lead the way.   
  
It came as no surprise when he suddenly realized he had no idea where he was. The woods were most certainly still within the boundaries of the Shire, but this was not a part that Sam could recall having ever traveled in… unbelievable as that fact was. A small brook trickled nearby, its edges lined with small boulders. A glance towards the sky told him it was long past midday. He didn't particularly feel like turning back the way he came, and for the moment he had lost whatever had initially inspired him to keep going forward. He had nothing to do but compromise: so he climbed onto one of the smooth rocks at the edge of the brook and sat there, legs crossed and chin cupped in his hands, with no intention of moving at any time within the foreseeable future. He thus commenced to brood further. After all, practice makes perfect.  
  
He was not there long before a peculiar splashing noise interrupted his reverie. He looked up to see a large otter perched on a rock at the opposite end of the brook. It was immediately obvious that this was no ordinary otter: ordinary otters do not wear a green vest, as this one did; nor did they mimic expressions with such uncanny accuracy. The otter stared at Sam, her face pulled into a deep frown under hooded eyes. As soon as she realized Sam was looking at her, she crossed her eyes and scrunched her nose up. She looked so grotesquely comical that Sam burst out laughing.  
  
"There!" the otter said. "Got you! I knew you couldn't keep up that grumping long. Not even my great aunt could look so completely miserable as long as you have, and she was very, very good at being miserable."   
  
"Well, I've a good reason!" Sam said defensively.   
  
"Oh, pike-fishes!" the otter answered. She leaped into the water but was back out before Sam could call out to her, this time on Sam's side of the brook. Sam held his arms up to shield himself from the droplets of water as the otter shook herself dry. "My uncle Nelli's knees, poppycock, rot, Mordor's flowers, pshaw, fluffkins, bumperbottoms, and other dismissive exclamations." She leaped onto his rock and sat balanced on her back legs, her front paws held before her in a posture that resembled Rosie's habit of crossing her arms when she was irritated. "I'll bet you haven't a thing to be miserable about!"  
  
Sam opened his mouth to protest once more. "I… Now wait just a moment, why should I tell you?"  
  
"Because," the otter said matter-of-factly, "I've just gone through the trouble of amusing and annoying you out of you deep blue funk. The least you could do is give me a reason why I did that."  
  
"Perhaps I haven't got a reason."  
  
"You said you did."  
  
"Perhaps I lied."  
  
"Perhaps you didn't."  
  
"Perhaps… Oh, this is absurd! I refuse to answer a single question until I know who wants to know."  
  
The otter rolled her eyes. "I do!"  
  
"I know that!"  
  
"Well why did you ask, then?"  
  
By this time, Sam was quite thoroughly fed up with the creature. The only reason he didn't simply stand up and walk away was because he was still quite lost. "Because," he explained, a trifle more calmly, "I meant to ask you who you are."  
  
"Oh! Well, why didn't you, then?"  
  
Sam gave her a sour look.  
  
"All right, all right! My name's Aunie." She hopped up onto her toes and gave a little bow.  
  
"I see…"  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"I'm Aunie, you're…"  
  
"Samwise Gamgee." Sam nodded his head, not in the mood to imitate her perky chivalry.   
  
"Really??" The otter's eyes widened. "_The _Sam Gamgee?"  
  
"Last I knew, there was only one," Sam said, confused.  
  
"But you're a hero! A true and real hero! What on Middle-Earth are you doing skulking about the woods? You ought to be… doing hero things!"  
  
"Like what?" Sam raised his eyebrows.   
  
"Like… attending grand feasts, flirting with beautiful maidens…" Aunie threw her paws up and spun around. "Galloping into the sunset on your brave steed, conquering unjust nations for the good of the people, committing deeds of foolish courage and facing certain death, asking for a reward only that some princess allow you to look into her eyes…"  
  
"Pardon my interrupting, miss Aunie, but..."  
  
"Not miss! Just Aunie, if you please." She stopped prancing to sit directly in front of Sam. "My mother taught me a trick to know when to call somebody 'miss'. See, it's only miss so-and-something if they're better than you, and if they are, then you miss them when they go away, because everybody wants to be around people who are better. Right? Or, you know, if there's a girl you fancy (my mum told my brothers this, not me), then you call her miss because you'd miss her even more. Well, it seems to me, sir hobbit, even if you weren't a hero, I'd be no better to you than this rock we're sitting on, and you certainly don't know me well enough to miss me if I went away."  
  
Sam looked at her for a long moment. Aunie flicked her tail with impatience.  
  
"Haven't you got anything at all to say?" she asked.  
  
"You. Are. _Completely_. Mad," Sam pronounced with finality.  
  
"I was only trying to help. You needn't get snippy." She turned away as if to leave. Sam suddenly realized that despite her endless stream of chattering, he rather enjoyed having her company.  
  
"Wait!" he said. She turned around and glared at him.  
  
"What, didn't I turn around properly?"  
  
Sam sighed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's just… I've got a lot on my mind…"  
  
"Well, if you'd just told me what the matter is, you could have avoided a lot of trouble."  
  
"You're not going to let it go, are you?"  
  
"Nope," Aunie answered cheerfully. "Besides, I've never seen you around here before, so I expect that means you're lost. Right?"  
  
Sam nodded.   
  
"Then that means you can't leave here unless I show you the way. Right?"  
  
"And I suppose that means you won't show me the way until I tell you the names of all the plants in the woods, and all the stones in the brook, and all the stars in the-"  
  
"No! I just want to know what's the matter with you."  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes at her. She stared back, her dark brown eyes deep and round yet somehow very much like hobbit eyes. He stared into her, the past her, and finally spoke.  
  
"If you've heard of me, I suppose you've heard of Mr. Frodo…"   
  
Aunie nodded, but did not speak.  
  
"…Well, he's been acting strangely of late. He's always been a bit… oh, I don't know… peculiar, in his way. Always been like he don't belong in the Shire… more elf than hobbit, nearly. But since we got back, and even more so in the past few weeks, he's been downright odd. There's something troubling him. It's always on his mind. I can tell. The way he looks at things…. Sad, like they remind him of something he lost, if you take my meaning. I see him sometimes just staring down the road. He'll just look and look until I don't think he sees anything at all. And always so sad, he is…"  
  
"And it worries you because he doesn't tell you?" Aunie asked.   
  
Sam nodded. "I love him," he murmured. "He's my best friend. I always thought… I thought he knew he could trust me with anything, you know?"  
  
"Why don't you just ask him what's the matter?"  
  
"I've tried," Sam said hopelessly. "He tells me the same thing every time. 'It's nothing, Sam. Don't worry yourself about me. I'm just tired, that's all.' I know it's not true. He knows I know it. But he won't say anything else."  
  
Aunie frowned in thought. "Have you told him you love him?"  
  
"Of course, I…"  
  
"I mean really told him? So it sinks in? I mean, have you pounded it into his skull with a metal pot?"  
  
"Well… no, not quite like that, I don't think."  
  
"You ought to. I've found it's hard to get a point across unless you throttle it."  
  
"What, the point, or the person you're making it to?"  
  
Aunie grinned. "See, you're really not so miserable! If you were, you wouldn't make jokes."  
  
Sam shook his head. "Wrong again. Maybe your kind, whatever creature you are, isn't the same, but my ol' Gaffer always told me if you don't laugh, you'll only end up crying. 'Course, usually you end up crying anyway…"  
  
"Aw, buck up." Aunie pawed his cheek softly. "Come on, I'll show you the way, then you tell your Frodo what's what. Right?"  
  
"If you say so…"  
  
"Well, come on then."  
  
…….  
  
Though the miles stretch on before you  
Past snow mountains and sea foam,  
Let these words be ever with you:  
You are always half way home.  
  
It's no secret that I tell you,  
No half-truth or riddled lie.  
Home is always there inside you.  
It's a flame that cannot die.  
  
It's the music in your laughter,  
It's the beating of your heart,  
It's the safety you let go of  
When a quest's about to start.  
  
It's the courage you find waiting  
When you face your greatest fears,  
It's the light your eyes find shining  
When you can't see through your tears.  
  
There's no distance you can measure,  
Whether near or far you roam,  
Great enough to take you further than  
Halfway away from home.  
  
…….  



	2. Throttling the Point

**CHAPTER 2: Throttling the Point**  
  
The green, inviting door of Bag End seemed a most welcome sight, illuminated as it was by a lamp hanging just above it. True, this was hardly the only light visible: windows, street lamps, candles at doorways were all common enough in the Shire. But this was the only light Sam saw. He rushed forward a few steps, then stopped and turned to look back at his quirky companion.  
  
"Go on," Aunie said. "I like to look at the stars."   
  
Sam nodded, smiled gratefully, and they both dashed off in separate directions.  
  
Despite his eagerness, Sam forced himself to slow down and proceed cautiously through the welcoming door. He hoped Rosie would be asleep, but he knew Frodo rarely slept until the night was at its darkest. Having succeeded in entering almost without a sound, Sam crept down the long hallway. As he had suspected, Rosie was indeed fast asleep. Sam passed the door to their bedroom and went to Frodo's.  
  
Frodo looked up at the sound of a sudden knock. "Come in," he said quietly.  
  
Sam did so.   
  
Frodo glanced around from his seat by a low fire. "Oh, hullo, Sam! I was wondering where you'd gone…"  
  
"A far enough way, Mr. Frodo," Sam said awkwardly. "To think."  
  
"Oh?" Frodo turned around in his chair and faced Sam.   
  
Sam nodded. "Yes, and after a good bit of thinking, though not all on my part, I think there's something that ought to be said."  
  
"I'm listening." Frodo knew Sam would occasionally have his moods of seriousness, but as often as not it would be over a wilted tomato plant or some such thing.   
  
Sam took a deep breath. He walked directly up to Frodo and stood before him. "You know I love you," he said.  
  
"Of course," Frodo answered dismissively. "And I you, Sam."  
  
"No, no… I mean really, Mr. Frodo."   
  
Something in Sam's tone struck Frodo. He looked up into his friend's eyes, curious and somehow afraid all at once. He saw tears in the hazel eyes that he knew so adored him, and was suddenly compelled to listen. "Yes, Sam…?"  
  
"Well, it seems to me you've grown distant lately. I can tell there's something troubling you, but I don't know what. That hurts, Mr. Frodo. It hurts to not be able to help you…" Sam sunk to his knees and took Frodo's hands in his. "I miss you, somehow. I'm no good at making proper speeches or lovely poetry, but that's the truth, vague as it seems. I know each day I see you, I touch you, but you're not there. I miss you. I miss everything we once had together, everything we used to do together. It's changed… Oh, Frodo, I miss you so much…" The tears spilled down Sam's cheeks then. He lowered his head, as if trying to hide them. His hair fell in his eyes and only made him look all the sadder. The sight tore at Frodo's heart.  
  
"Oh Sam… dearest Sam…" Frodo freed one of his hands from Sam's desperate grip. He brushed his fingers across Sam's cheeks, wiping away tears that were quickly replaced. "Please, you mustn't be too upset over me. I've changed, Sam. So have you. We can't undo that. But I still love you, Sam, even if I'm not always there. You're right, I am troubled, but I cannot tell you why. Look at me Sam."  
  
Sam reluctantly raised his eyes to Frodo's.   
  
"I trust you more than anybody. Do you understand that?"  
  
Sam nodded dumbly and without conviction.  
  
"Sam." Frodo looked deeply into his eyes. "I do love you, but I cannot tell you. You have to trust me this once to keep my sorrow to myself. Please, as you love me, leave me be. It won't be for much longer."  
  
"How can you ask me to do that?" Sam demanded, his voice husky with emotion. "After all we've been through, how can you ask me to simply leave you?"  
  
"I cannot tell you my reasons. Not yet." Frodo brought his arm around the back of Sam's neck, drawing him closer. "You have to trust me, Samwise."  
  
Sam wiped the tears from his eyes. "If you say so…"  
  
"Good." Frodo smiled at him. "Now, go on and go to sleep, Sam. You've been out walking all day, you'll need rest."  
  
Sam nodded, stood, and turned to leave. He went out of Frodo's room, but rather than going to join Rosie and sleep as Frodo had suggested, he crept back out of the front door and into the chilled night. Aunie spotted him as he trudged down the path. She hurried to join him.  
  
"What happened? What did he say?" she asked excitedly. Sam said nothing, but walked more hastily. Aunie scuttled after him, keeping pace easily. "What??" she demanded. "Did he tell you what's wrong? You were in there an awful short time. I haven't even got half way through naming all the stars tonight. You know, my uncle Bertram used to…"  
  
"_Will-you-be-quiet_!!" Sam stopped abruptly and whirled around to glare at Aunie. "I have had enough of your chattering! He said the same-houndin'-thing he says every time I ask him! There, are you happy?? Throttling or no, he won't get it. That's IT. It's _FINISHED_. Will you leave me be now??" Without waiting for an answer, Sam turned to resume his quick walk. Aunie watched him until she was certain of his destination. She already suspected his intention. She had seen tears glistening in the hero's eyes, and red burning in his cheeks that was anger and shame, but the red of salt tears as well. She knew.   
  
A moment later, the Shire was silent again, except for the creaking of a round green door.  
  
…….  
  
What happened to the understanding you and I once shared?  
So don't you need me any more? And don't I need you, too?  
What happened to the simple life we longed for, loved, and knew  
When long ago our worlds collided and somehow stayed paired?  
  
I walked the paths of innocence, and you were always there  
To lend your smile, your warmth, your path through a divided dream.  
What happened to that strange direction no compass can gleam  
From copper arrows, and no map gives records anywhere?  
  
I miss those times I shared with you, my confidante and mate.  
I miss our useless secrets, whispered love and snarled hate.  
You taught me so much I had missed, so much I had to learn.  
My dearest friend, I passed my test, and now it is your turn.  
  
I tell you what my heart still knows, and still you drift away.  
I don't know how to hold your hand, keep you my best of friends.  
I only hope this poem tells you better than my voice can say:  
I'm scared of what might happen if our friendship ever ends.  
  
…….  
  



	3. My Best Friend

**CHAPTER 3: My Best Friend**  
  
"Frodo Baggins!" said a scolding voice in the doorway. Frodo leaped out of his chair, surprised at hearing an unfamiliar voice, and even more shocked when he saw the owner of that voice.  
  
"Who… what… er…. Hello," he stuttered.   
  
"Frodo Baggins, you need some Talking To." Frodo could hear the pronunciation of the capital letters. He raised an eyebrow quizzically at the creature, who had by now removed herself from the doorway and perched upon a small table.   
  
"All right," Frodo said resignedly, having accepted long ago that strange things were drawn to Bag End like flies to jam, "But if I am to be scolded by a… whatever you are… don't I at least deserve to know who you are?"  
  
"I'm Aunie," the otter said. "And I'm very sorry to do this sir… meaning you no disrespect at all, you understand…"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"…But you've been somewhat, well, troublesome, and somebody ought to tell you." Aunie jumped off of the table and marched straight up to Frodo. "Sit down," she directed, pointing to the chair. Frodo obeyed, more because the creature seemed to be unarmed and not physically hostile than because he wanted to hear what she had to say. Aunie stepped back, her round eyes glistening as she inspected him. "You are," she continued, "Quite possibly one of the most stubborn, self-centered _men _I have ever known."   
  
Frodo looked at her in a way that communicated very clearly the fact that he had no idea what she was talking about. Aunie sighed dramatically.   
  
"Don't you listen to anything?" she asked. "What did Mr. Samwise just tell you? Were you not present for the conversation?"  
  
"Of course I heard!" Frodo exclaimed. "He just said… and I… oh dear…" A certain realization dawned on Frodo. "He meant it, didn't he?"  
  
Aunie looked up at the ceiling. "By the fish in the River, bless my nose, I do believe the boy is on to something!"  
  
Frodo stood up from the chair. "I have to find him!" he said. "I thought he was just, you know, in one of his moods. He gets that was sometimes. I didn't think… Oh, what a _fool _I've been! Aunie, was it? Do you know where he is? I assume if you're here, that means he can't have gone to sleep like I told him to…"  
  
Aunie shrugged. "He might have gone to sleep. But you're correct in thinking he's not here. He's gone to the garden shed. At least, that's where he was going when I came in here. What he intends to do there, I'm sure I can't say. You might want to go find out yourself, _Mr_. Baggins."   
  
Frodo was out the door before Aunie's scolding was finished. She smiled as he scuttled out of view. She followed soon after through the window.  
  


~*#*~  


  
Frodo barely felt the chill in the air as he ran, without even a coat, from the front door of Bag end. He found himself hesitating as he grew closer to the garden shed. By the time he reached the door, he was going at a cautious walk. As his hand touched the rusted doorknob, he stopped completely. From the other dies of the door, he heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip. _I know what I have to do,_ he thought to himself. _Why can't I do it??_ He took a deep breath, his hand clutching the doorknob tightly before turning it. The door creaked open.   
  
"Samwise!" Frodo exclaimed, rushing to his friend's side. Sam was sitting on the dusty cement floor, leaning against a wooden crate with his face buried in his arm. In his right hand, he held the handle of a pair of shears; but on his left hand, which was balled into a tight fist, Frodo could see the unmistakable red gleam of blood.   
  
At the sound of Frodo's voice, Sam dropped the shears and jerked his head up. Their eyes met for an instant only, and in that instant, the hurt he saw in the gardener's eyes terrified Frodo. But he did not have to see that pain long, for Sam immediately turned away. He scooted back against the wooden crate, almost as if trying to scramble away in fear. His motions were jerky and panicked, but upon realizing that he could no go anywhere, he settled on staring wide-eyed at the floor. Frodo could see his profile illuminated by the shine of a lantern on a shelf behind Sam. He had never seen anyone look so utterly lost as Sam seemed to look at the moment.   
  
Slowly, Frodo knelt beside his companion. He took the injured hand to inspect it. Sam tried to pull away, but Frodo held tightly. "Oh, Sam…" Frodo reached for the bandages he knew Sam kept in the shed for just such purposes. Fortunately the cut was not deep, and Frodo mended in quickly. Sam had drawn his knees half way up and leaned forward to rest his forehead on them during the operation. "Sam, how did you do this…?"  
  
Sam gave no answer, but turned his face away. Frodo circled his arms around Sam's shoulders and tried to pull him closer, but Sam fought him. "_Get off!_" he demanded brokenly, trying to pull away. "Just… leave me… go away!" He could barely speak through his sobs, and he had no strength to fight for long. Frodo clutched his shoulders and shook him roughly.   
  
"Samwise Gamgee, you stop it this instant!" Frodo looked straight into his eyes. Again, he saw the wild, lost look-the same look he had seen once in the eyes of a snared rabbit. He felt the same sick feeling he had felt at the sight of the dying animal, but this time he did not run away. "_SAMWISE_, listen to me! Stop it! Stop it _now_!" He was pleading, he would do anything to erase that pain from the familiar hazel eyes, now glowing silver and drowned with tears. Finally, Sam stopped fighting. He melted into Frodo's embrace, his body shuddering with uncontrollable grief. Frodo held his friend's head against his chest, his fingers tangled in the mop of curly hair. He could feel Sam's tears soak through his shirt. He did not let go. "Hush now, Sam," he murmured. "It's all right. I'm here. Hush now…" He rocked Sam in his arms gently, as a mother would rock a frightened child after a nightmare. What words he spoke he did not know, nor did it matter. All that mattered was that Sam could hear his voice, knowing he was there.   
  
Eventually, Sam's sobbing quieted to uneven, shuddering breaths. He had curled himself up in Frodo's arms. Frodo saw how vulnerable he was, and for the thousandth time, he silently tortured himself for allowing his friend to be so hurt. _How could I have done this? How??_  
  
"Sam, how did you hurt your hand?" Frodo inquired softly.   
  
Sam looked contemplatively at his bandaged hand. He sniffed, nestling closer to Frodo's side. "I… I guess I just… picked up the shears an'… they fell… and I tried… but they…"   
  
"What were you going to do with the shears?" Frodo asked, not wanting to rush the gardener, but desperate to find out how badly he had hurt him.   
  
"To… t' cut the bush…"   
  
"What bush, Sam?"  
  
"I… I think…" Sam shook his head as his voice dissolved once more in tears. But Frodo understood the meaning: Sam never had any intention of cutting a specific bush. He was following motions ingrained in his mind, motions he would follow automatically to do some every-day chore. His mind had been elsewhere.   
  
Frodo held Sam tighter. "Samwise, I want you to listen to me." Sam nodded. "You are my best friend. I will never hurt you. Do you understand? I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry…" Frodo felt tears on his own cheeks. He would not release his hold on Sam to wipe them away, though, so he let them fall freely onto his sleeves and in Sam's hair. "I have changed, Sam, and that's why I'm distant. It hurts to be so different. It doesn't have to. I see that now. Stay close to me, Sam. Don't let me hurt you again. Please. Stay close to me. I want you by my side as long as you will be. You're my best friend. I won't lose that so easily…"  
  
"I will, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, his voice cracked from crying. "I'll stay. Just don't let me go."  
  
"I won't, Samwise. Not ever."  
  
"Then… I won't let you go either… Not ever. Not until the sky falls on us."  
  
Sam leaned over to kiss Sam's forehead. "Thank you, Sam," he whispered.  
  
They sat there, coiled in each other's arms, until sleep claimed them both. When it had, a shadow slipped into the shed and paused before them.  
  
"Darn you two," she said, smiling. "You've gone and made me cry." She batted the tears from her cheeks, then spread a blanket over the two sleeping friends. "Good night, my heroes," she whispered. With that, she was gone.  
  
…….  
  
After nights of hard sorrow, the Heroes awaken.  
Their eyes are stained red with the tears of their past.  
The gray prison-their shelter-holds little new hope,  
But the Heroes know well this day won't be their last.  
  
For the dawn, never heeding of troubles or hatred,  
Burns on the horizon in glorious flame.  
And the Heroes, chained, beaten, and shivering cold,  
Find new hope in the light that holds them from their shame.  
  
And the Heroes are marveled that dawn comes again  
Through the shards of dreams scattered and hearts torn apart.  
Still they hear the wind blow outside bars of hard iron.  
It melts the cracked ice in their own broken hearts.  
  
After nights of hard sorrow, the Heroes awaken.  
They think of their quest-every king, every pawn.  
Never yet have they failed, never have they surrendered.  
They'll rise and continue, for still comes the dawn.  
  
…end…  



End file.
